


Troubled Low

by RectifiedPear



Category: Lady and the Tramp (1955)
Genre: Adoption, Developing Relationship, Dog Jokes, Dogs, Established Relationship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Financial Issues, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Married Characters, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Puppies, Unresolved Emotional Tension, giving away puppies, married with kids, re-homing, street life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RectifiedPear/pseuds/RectifiedPear
Summary: Tramp's life is not so much paradise. In the aftermath of Angel being adopted, there are many problems that need to be addressed, things weighing on his mind that he cannot bring himself to tell his wife or son. A baby, several dogs, and two adults make for quite the family. But he's beginning to feel boxed in more, his freedom feels artificial, he doubts he even has freedom. Small comforts help to soothe the mutt's troubles.But, even still, Tramp's doubts weight at his mind, like his collar weighs upon his throat.





	1. Chapter 1

Tramp's nose knew many a smell, but the one he'd been smelling was not a good sign. Lady and his pups were oblivious as he walked around. The humans too could not smell it, he had seen no sign of them catching what laid within their house.

It was not something he'd breach topic with, given his puppies were growing and had been having arranged meetings, a thing spoken of with Lady. 

Jim Dear and Darling had people interested in their daughters, and Tramp was happy to hear his daughters were thinking more of themselves and their lives than their parent's. Lady's resolve was flimsy, a brave face put on in hopes her kids would be brave as well, but Danielle, Annette, and Collette had all lit up like fireworks.

“A farm?!” Both Annette and Collette had barked, staring at Danielle and expecting her to reject it.

“A farm!” Danielle had barked, nearly doing a trick. As if this were a reward to her dished out by the humans. “I can't wait!”

Both had stared in surprise, then began to talk of how they were going to run things, Danielle doing much the same, but more on animals she knew nothing about. Talk between them had Lady's mouth agape and Tramp's chest full of contentment.

The household would be minus three dogs, down to four, but it was not an event that would be upsetting. They hardly could stop their mouths – or their tails from wagging. Excitement carried along, and all three girls departed about the house to follow their humans, making nudges that had Jim Dear and Darling speaking to them each about how happy they were going to be. Darling even tried to doubt the idea of giving away the three, but they became sad at her doubts and Jim Dear was having none of it, much to their joy.

He walked now, to the food dishes, so often gulped clean by Scamp and Angel now, and refilled more and more. The pomeranian was there already, finishing half of a dish that was left out and ignoring him as he lapped water from the dog bowl. Scamp's paw prints trailed outside, then into the baby's room.

Tramp ignored them, eyes cast upon Angel now. 

His impression of her was a lingering thing. She'd brought his son home, but she'd also kept him out there. Buster had called her his girl, and Tramp knew she was not – absolutely not – his son's age. But his son was happy, a pup of big dreams. He'd grabbed onto Buster in a way that should have been how Tramp had been. _Hid it all away and he still found a stray to latch onto._ He should have been the big deal to his son. His words, his stories.

The weeks were passing faster and faster. Angel had only been there for months. When fall and winter came, they would not dare cast her out. But she was looking less and less enthused with his daughters, and them with her. Least their absence would only effect Lady and him, and he was more eager to see his kids happy than confined.

“Something wrong?” She asked. She'd been wary of calling him any form of dad, and he had a hunch why, she wasn't sure Scamp would stay in puppy love for long, that he too, like other dogs and humans alike, would not outgrow her.

Tramp ran his brown eyes down then up, smiled like he'd always done to females. “Not at all.” She looked ready to say something to him, but he turned on his heels and sauntered off to find a rag and tell Lady to get a bucket. They needed to help the humans clean up their son's mess. Last thing he needed was Scamp back under the radar.

His attention off Angel, Tramp relaxed and smiled at the muddy dog playing with the human child. Both needed a bath. Scamp gave him a sheepish look, clearly oblivious in the moment to the fact he had a playmate now of his own species. He dropped the clothe used for cleaning floors by the door and smiled, “Having fun, Whirlwind?”

“Yeah!”

“Mind getting cleaned up with the kid?” 

Scamp looked down at his muddy feet, then to the tracks, surprise creased its way across his features. Tramp picked up Jim Jr by the 'spine' of his shirt and headed out, son following, as Lady brought a bucket half full of water and Darling came along. 

“Jim Dear, our son needs a bath!”

"Okay, Darling."


	2. Chapter 2

Dodging the splash as Jim Jr and Scamp played, Tramp watched the two bond in ways Lady had implied were happening. Scamp being so close to Darling and Jim Dear's son meant he'd been overlooked when adoption was talked about. They couldn't part the boy from pup now that Scamp was back indoors and wearing a collar anew. He was family.

They were all family if Tramp had been asked. The way people ran on money when the streets had plenty of empty homes and places to curl up had confused him. They had guns, beds, vehicles, nets, and everything to conquer, yet they allowed the cold of metal rocks and pieces of fancy newspaper to rule over them.

_Like dogs with bone piles._

He shook himself of such thoughts to pad away, leaving naked child and soggy sud-covered pup to splash foam and water over the tub's brim. The adults would monitor their kid in his absence, or Lady would step in to wag her tail and play. He did not feel like doing such.

Years were blurred for Tramp, he could not smell if Angel was three or five, or if he himself was the same in age. He remembered two cold winters, and the one spent here. He remembered countless females melting the snow and warming his heart.

The vets had placed him at five years one check up, said he'd easily live another five, if not fifteen. But they'd been stumped when Angel was brought in. Called her a yearling. His own pup was not fawning over a yearling, Angel was more like Buster's age. _That's why he called her his girl._ Yet his son had gone right into that, trying to have the top dog's dog.

_The kind of thing no one on the streets tolerates._

Again, Tramp shook himself from those thoughts and began to move. Claws tapping wood flooring.

He remembered Peg, she was easily older than him, but mistakable for a dog Angel's age. He knew toy dogs galore of that range, even Jock was deceptive, he was older than Lady, but younger than Tramp. Yet the kids regarded him as someone ten years or older, same with Trusty. They looked older than they were. But smell should have tipped his kids off.

_They have less experience than Pidge._

The farm and new home would do his daughters well. They couldn't live naive and spoiled without change. He could see how this life was making everyone nose-blind. The idea of them all homeless... once more, Tramp had that feeling.

The feeling he'd lose his family if they ever had to live in the wild like him. 

_New homes beat no home._

He drank from the water dish, eyes upon a now empty food dish, he'd heard it filled not to long ago. His daughters sat in a sun beam not far from the open window, basking in the light. “You girls didn't eat that much for breakfast, did you?”

“No daddy. We only ate our normal meals.” They all chimed back.

“It was Angel.” Collette snorted after a pause.

“Collette!”

“She eats like a pig!”

“Collette!”

“What? She eats three times what we eat, she obviously doesn't care about her figure now that she's a pet like us!”

“Collette's right, Danielle, we have to look good, unlike her.”

“Eating like a pig's not that bad, pig's are cool sounding!”

Tramp scrunched his face up as Danielle began to talk about how she hoped there were pigs on the farm. Ooh, and cats! And sheep too! Neither Annette nor Collette looked thrilled, instead, both daughters began to retort back how where they'd be going was better, Danielle should come with them. Danielle was not shaken from gushing about the animals – and the mud!

He was happy for them. 

Happier still that they'd be leaving soon. The humans had to be taking stock of how much food was vanishing. It was concerning. Two bowls already? On the streets him and his fellow dogs were lucky to get a plate of half-dried pasta. Lady had experienced better dining than most, and that had been because the humans thought they were together. Plus, she was cute.

He threw himself upon a sofa, paws pushing cushions back into place as Jim Dear and Darling struggled to catch Scamp and dry him off. Jim Jr streaked shakily towards the door, then seemed to fall on his bottom before he could get past the sofa. Tramp eyed the kid. He ate a lot too. He shut his eyes as Darling picked the kid up, no crying, just giggles.

Tramp breathed in, then out.

Shut out the thoughts of the streets, of his family. Of a future where everything might fall into the hands of humans and not dogs. Where Lady blindly put faith in people, and pets, over dogs and experience. By the time his mate was beside him, resting her long ears over his front paws, he was fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Tramp stared at the spot where the sun casted light through the window. It had been awhile, weeks, really, and his daughters had been adopted. Just for a day had become just for the weekend, and now they were gone. There in the spot, sat no one. He sniffed it, took in their memorized scents, and eyed sticky hand print stains. Soon the humans would scrub and clean this carpet, and with it, their scents. He knew the fading of smells was predictable. 

_Four dogs._ He watched Lady, looking for any sign of disappointment or depression. Jim Dear and Darling had bought her special treats and snacks, even new toys. They'd acted as if Lady's heart was broken, and Pidge had been fine. Taking treats and bringing them to him, batting her eyes and doing tricks.

She was eating from the bowl today, Angel and Scamp running circles around the place. He tried to remember how long Angel had been there, almost a month. Almost a month. No. It was cusping on a new month soon, strange things, he preferred using the moon to whatever humans used.

The Pomeranian streaked like gold around the kitchen as Scamp tripped and slammed into a drawer before pacing himself to catch up. Lady smiled at the two, then seemed to linger upon him, expression drooping. 

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He lied.

“I'm sure when we visit, they're going to be happy.”

“I'm not worried about it.”

She sniffed the spot and gave him a look. “I miss them too.”

“They'll be happier, Pidge. I know they will.” 

Again Scamp smacked into something, this time it was the counter and he yelped out, drawing both their attentions to him before he shook it off and yelled 'wait up' to Angel.

“I think she's good for him.”

He didn't.

“He's so happy, running and having someone his age to play with-”

She wasn't.

“-especially someone who's not his sisters. He needs more friends.”

Friends like what? More junkyard dogs? More strays? Some neighbor dog that they'd all assume the age of by looks and Angel could get jealous over? Some more drama involving the streets and the –

“Don't you agree?”

“Yes.” He smiled despite himself, setting his jaw before he rose to his feet. “Come on, Pidge, it's time for our walks.”

Jim Dear walked up to the door, keys jangling and shoes slipped on in a haste, from his pockets came their rolled up leashes. Angel and Scamp made two laps around his ankles before they were shooed out the dog flap and into the backyard, both barked back at him. Tramp mimicked Lady, sitting patient, ignoring their kids(was Angel his kid now? Ew!) barking and running around. He hoped they wouldn't dig holes. The tell-tale click of the leash fastening to collar rang out twice. The door opened. 

 

Ten dog bones and a lot of strutting later, Tramp was home. His nose curled as the smell wafted to his nose again. He needed to find a time to confront Angel on matters. To set things straight. Stuffing was poking from a cushion as Jim Dear opened the door. Scamp alone looked up with the eyes of a deer before a car. He ducked his head and made to run when the leashes were dropped and he was grabbed by the scruff.

“Bad dog!”

“Tramp.” Lady whispered.

“Let Jim Dear handle this.” 

Where was Angel at, he wondered. Leash dragging behind him as he left to go sniff her out. The Pomeranian was atop fresh laundry, licking herself and scratching at her collar, it was an off white, a flea collar. The actual collar had been forfeit to make sure seven – now four – dogs did not get infested.   
“Hi.” 

“Hi yourself. You stinking up the baby's bedding for a reason?”

“The human just finished folding it, it's still warm – hey! Put me down!”

 _Gladly._ He rolled his dark eyes as he dropped her onto the tile floor and nudged the blankets to an almost orderly state. “Don't lay on people's laundry.”

“Darling thought it was cute,”

“Right now Jim Dear is handling my son, he finds you laying on Jim Jr's bedding, you'll both be sleeping outside.”

She pulled back her ears and lowered her head. “Oh. Oops.”

“I assume you both are responsible.”

“... Maybe.”

He cast a gaze across her, eyes narrowing as his nose curled up. “Don't let it happen again.”

“Yes sir...”

“Good.” 

He left her. The sound of newspaper being rolled up was followed by a loud _WHAP_ and Tramp shut his eyes to the whimper. To the exclamation being repeated over and over.

“Bad dog! Bad! Bad, bad dog!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's clear, I am not villainizing Jim Dear or Darling. I don't think it's wrong for them to take matters into their hands over Scamp. A bad dog gets treated how it acts. Scamp getting punished is not condoned by his parents, but they know their humans need to feel like changes are happening. The alternative is basically boot camp aka obedience classes for dogs(if those existed at the time), or paying a pet trainer, that'd cost money.
> 
> They are dealing with four dogs - two of which are "puppies", and a baby. Likely one's working, ones full at home care. 
> 
> Scamp's antics lose their cuteness fast when done around tired grown adults who raised his mother with less trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

For a few days Tramp found himself not seeing Angel. The Pomeranian would slink out of sight when he strode into a room she was in. Her gaze would drop, her tail would almost tuck - almost. Angel's eating was less in plain sight and more whenever he slept. She'd even began to vanish seemingly on time with routine. Walks were free of Angel in the area. Morning meals came without the Pomeranian. Even night time movies once a week had her far in the back or already asleep, absent. Scamp caught on after awhile, gaze going between them. He'd follow along, and must have asked her why. 

“Dad.”

“Yes, Whirlwind?” Tramp replied, nosing a cushion as he slept upon the sofa. Lady pressed into his side. She didn't stir, and continued to breathe evenly.

“Did you say anything mean to Angel?”

“Told her not to sleep on fresh laundry, son, as I told you. When you were a month old.” 

“Well.” He seemed hesitant, sucking in air, tail stilling. “Maybe she didn't know that.”

 _Five homes and she doesn't know not to sleep on clean clothes._ Yeah, and Buster didn't know how to avoid traffic. “That's why I told her, son.”

Scamp's paws padded the floor as he paced in place. “Yeah, well...”

“Son, she messed up. I'm not at her throat, she's avoiding your mother as well.”

“She is not!”

Opening one eye, Tramp looked down at his growing child. The last one living there. His ears were getting fluffier, elongating more. They hung down more. He had been born looking so much like Tramp, but the features were coming in slowly. _One day when I go to see your sisters, one might look even more like me._ He wanted to protect his son, to lie and say Angel had not been 'off' lately. Instead, he rolled to his feet and stretched his legs. 

“Okay, son. Calm down. I'm not mad at her. Everything's fine.”

“But it's not.”

Good. He wasn't the only one. “It's not?”

“My sister's are gone, and the human pup is getting signed up for something called kindergarten, mom says that means he'll be gone a lot. I've got no one to play with besides Angel, and she keeps getting tired!”

“Play with yourself. You did that all the time when your sisters were here.”

“But it's not the same!”

“What do you want then, son?” Scamp's mouth shuts. Stepping down from the sofa, Tramp cocks an ear. “I'm listening, go on.” 

“I-I don't know, dad. I thought I wanted to be a junkyard dog, and that didn't turn out right, and being a house dog's great, but I'm so bored.”

He scratched his ears before thinking. “I've got an idea, son, follow me.” He turns, noting how quiet the place is. He needs to ask what kindergarten is. Sounds like those places their humans leave to make money. Kid's not even talking well and they want to make him work? Is that what humans do all their lives?

The basket is firm between his teeth as he lifts it with his mouth and turns on his son. “Hhherrre.” He says, walking back. It rests beside the sofa, overflowing.

“Where did all these toys come from?!”

“Jim Dear and Darling thought it would cheer your mom up. She doesn't really care for most of them, they squeak or jingle like tags too much.”

Scamp bats a ball which jingles and rattles with treats and a bell. Under it rests several chew bones, rope toys, and other things. Tramp's never had much desire to chew on more than a real bone. These fake toys don't appeal to him, but Scamp's face is lit up as he chases the ball.

“Mmm?” Lady mutters, head lifted, eyes still shut.

“Hope you don't mind, Pidge.” He says, licking her forehead. “I'm letting our son play with the toys.”

“As long as he's happ-y.”

Tramp watches the mix laugh and bat the ball around. Happy to avoid an argument. _She's no good for you. She's only looking out for herself._ He knows it's not exact truth, but he also knows more than either of them do. It's chewing at him now.

“Slow down there, Whirlwind.” He bats the ball back before it can ring noisily around Lady. It nearly slips under the sofa before a paw silences it and nudges it back towards the basket. He scans over it with his eyes. “Want to play tug-of-war, Scamp?”

“Yeah!” 

Tension dissolving, Tramp grips the knotted string between his teeth and does a play boy before the pup. Scamp's tail wags back and forth excitedly. It makes him feel better. Almost worry-free.


	5. Chapter 5

With his sisters gone, Angel's appeal had skyrocketed. Jim Dear and Darling pampered her something fierce. They'd play dress up, adorning Angel in bows or ribbons and posing her for photos. Gushing, they'd coo and pet her, tell her she was a good girl, and ask if she wanted to go for walks. The latter was always no. Angel avoided going out at all costs. Only staying inside their vehicle.

 _She doesn't want the strays she used to know to see her._ Angel's dodgy behavior starts to make some degree of sense there. The female is dodging her past and doing her best to start over. _A poor attempt, considering._

“You sure you don't want to go out, girl?”

Angel backs from the open door, ears pulled back. She doesn't move, even as Scamp and Lady bound out the door. Tramp waits to see what will happen, pretending to be more occupied by an itch at the moment. 

Finally she retreats, walk a bit funny, something both people seem to take notice in. 

“Think she's sick?”

“Maybe it's the food.”

“The other dogs aren't sick.”

“You're right, Darling.”

“Just give her a week or two.”

Tramp eyes Angel, and rises to his feet to follow his wife and pup. The topics once outside are not pleasant. Lady questions Angel's behavior, and he does his best to lie. To play it off as if he doesn't know the truth, inklings of doubt creeping into his mind more with each day. 

“It's a family outing today. Don't worry. She'll probably curl up with Darling. Let's go for a walk.” 

“Yeah!”

It's a lot of work for them to remember to walk slower and stay at pace with their human, Jim Dear needs more breaks than they do, and he tries to act like he's in control of the leashes. As if he could hang on should all three go in different directions at once. Scamp's slipped free enough times to give him confidence in his own skills.

They're both happy, tails wagging, and it lets Tramp feel happy. Lady and Scamp's noses turn towards cooking and fresh food, while his ducks down, sniffing at trash and scent markers. He begins listing names of dogs in the area. He can smell Trusty, Jock, Ruby, Peg, a few dogs he only talked to on and off, Jasper, Spot, Rover... and faintly, his old friends. 

“Oh, pie!” Scamp barks, jerking towards a fenced yard just to be tugged by his tail. 

“Not now, son.” Tramp replies, pulled from the smells of the fences and streets to tend to his own. 

“If you used your nose,” Lady says, winking despite how soft her tone is, “Jim Dear's got treats in his pocket. We'll get them next time he finds a bench.”

“Cool!”

Tramp says nothing as his brown eyes look through cracks in fences. Some of the dogs on the other side, he knows. Some are new faces. Some come forward, calling his name, some coo it, Lady shoots smiles or glares depending on who says what. A few males are only smiled at, despite what they're saying. Tramp thinks on that, on how Lady doesn't read deeper. She trusts in him, and yet he's aloof about the matter.

“You tell em', Pidge.” He jokes, nuzzling her.

“What's some of those words mean, dad?”

“When you're older.”

Lady nods her head. “Not everyone talks nice, a lot of those words are mean things, but they say them as jokes.”

“Gotta talk tough on the streets, and not every dog loses their bark once off the streets, son.” 

“Oh.” He glances back.

Tramp can only wonder what Scamp's thinking about Angel right then. Is he realizing he might not have feelings for her? Is he rethinking things? Remembering the junkyard? He can't read the kid's mind. Not even as Jim Dear stops before a bench and pulls out treats, Scamps' gaze still behind him. The human lets out a sigh, sliding to a sit upon firm metal and wrapping leashes around his wrist. Tramp feels a gentle tug, Lady's already sitting beside one pant-clad leg.

His son remains idle, staring off, even as the leash goes slack. Tramp watches, averting his gaze from Lady's attention as they crunch hard treats that smell like beef and carrots.


	6. Chapter 6

“Dad?” Scamp's voice picks up, higher pitched than usual, more nervous too.

“Yes, son?”

“It's normal for feelings to change, right?”

 _What a weird start to a conversation._ He thinks, keeping ahead of Jim Dear. His son whines and fusses like he has caught fleas and their human stops, likely assuming Scamp needs 'to go'. He does need to pee, and better here than elsewhere. Tramp cocks a leg and mulls the idea over. “Yes, it can be normal, why, son?”

“Angel's antsy, paces a lot, dad. I like her, but I think people think I like her more than I actually like her.” Scamp bites a clump of grass, yanking it up. “She gets snappier, grouchier...she barks more. She's tired more, she's, a bit more like one of the words the dogs back there called mom.”

He knows the word. A female dog. It's not a swear or a bad word used like that. Tramp notes to tell Scamp that later. Much later. Jim Dear begins to walk anew, leading them around, and then back. Darling calls it part of his routine, and Lady's been explaining they're helping the humans by reminding them to walk themselves. It's a weird thing. 

“Do you know why she's like that, dad?”

“I have a hunch.” 

“Can I do anything to make her feel better? I still like her as a friend. Always have. Didn't like who she hung around, but she's a good dog. Been through five homes, I want this to be lucky number six.”

“She's only been here awhile, son. She needs time to get settled.” He scents the wind. “She's used to being rehomed, on the streets, in junkyards.” Nothing new can be smelled in this area that he hasn't last walk. “Lucky number six, you say?”

“Yeah, she should be happy here!”

“Maybe you can share some of your toys with her?”

Scamp's tail beats like a whirlwind, whipping the air. “That could work!”

“Tell you what, pick one of the dog beds and let her have it, we barely use our old one anymore. Something soft she can call hers will make her feel more at home.” 

His son bounces along, getting 'easy's from Jim Dear as he wiggles and bounds in excitement. If it wasn't for Lady and Tramp's diligent tutelage, the kid would likely do worse and worse on a leash, or hang himself. There was a reason collars were bad on the street. One bad fence or sharp hook and a dog was in peril and likely a goner. 

“Thanks, dad! Oh – is it okay with you, mom?”

“It's fine.” Lady smiled, pressing to Tramp's side as Scamp walked circles on the end of his leash. “We're adapting, Tramp. The kids gone besides him, Angel in the house. Jim Dear and Darling are sad and happy at the same time.”

“Weird.”

“They're not spending as much money on food, but they bought all those toys now...”

“So it's still going to be an issue.” He sighed.

“Hopefully not. We're going on walks, there's only four dogs in the house.”

“Twice the amount they had before the kids, Pidge.”

“Well,” her baby doll eyes rolled upward, a soft smile beamed at him, “I suppose you're right.” He knew he was, and that worried him. “But, wasn't too long after we got together that the puppies came.”

“Yeah, and now they're growing up. Look at Scamp, he's getting your ears and my paws, maybe he'll shed his coat and come in looking more like you soon!”

“Do dogs do that?” She looked from Tramp to Scamp, to her own feet. “Never seen it.”

“Plenty of dogs do. Dalmatians are born pure white.”

She gasped. Then laughed. “How strange, where do the spots come from?”

“I can explain it, some of it, if you like, Pidge?”

“I'd like that. There's so much I never knew.”

“Well, see some dogs don't get their markings until adulthood, you understand?” He felt smart, and Scamp was listening some now instead of chasing his tail. Tramp spent the rest of the walk speaking of Dalmatians and herding dogs, strange breeds that had big paws, and wolves. He'd never seen a wolf, but he'd heard about them from other dogs. Both were rapt with hearing these things. Their world was fenced in and small. Tramp was determined to expand it every chance he got now


	7. Chapter 7

It's a whole week of teaching them later when Tramp realizes his knowledge is quite limited. He's never really put forth this much effort to teaching his kids the wild, or about other dogs. They knew to be careful. He's crossed paths with them on walks now, except Danielle, the farm's farther out. “A vacation place” Jim Dear calls it, saying some time in next summer they'll go there. He doesn't know if he's thrilled she's so far away, or worried.

Annette and Collette are both stunning, they've grown, small differences between their paws and the texture of their fur. He wonders why he's noticing this. They leave scents for each other now on paths. 

The things his son and mate cannot learn are mostly fighting and opening locks. That's fine, he knows they'll never have to brave the wild again, and never against their will. Angel's avoided them all, curled up on Darling's bed like Lady used to as a pup. Sometimes they get the bed, but it's warmer now, too warm to bunker down among two humans, and when Jim Jr cries, it becomes three in one bed.

The smell's worse today, odorous and strong, he looks for it, and finds Scamp dumping toys out and carrying them one by one. Fascinated, Tramp sits down. 

Scamp leaves with a toy.

Scamp comes back with a toy.

Scamp puts that toy down.

Scamp gets a different toy.

Rinse. Repeat.

Five times it happens, and only once has Scamp returned minus a toy.

 _He's taking them to Angel and seeing which ones she rejects._ Tramp realizes, wondering where Angel is. It seems she might be in Jim Jr's room, watching the baby in the adult human's absence. _If she is, good._ Lady and him are too big to climb up into the crib, and Scamp won't be able to forever. If Angel's useful that way, so be it.

When all ten toys have been taken and brought back – seven are brought back, three appear to have been accepted – Scamp sits down and plays with the remaining toys. Seeing his son is unbothered by this, Tramp sits beside him as well. “Want more stories of The Tramp, son?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, now what should I tell today, Whirlwind?”

He gnaws upon the toy for awhile, batting the rope one at his father, and offer accepted and pawed at between his feet. “What was your dad like?”

“My da –“ It takes him awhile to think back that far.

A time long ago. “Well, that's something I barely remember, but I'll see if I can weave it well from memory.” He tells of a scruffy dog who walked the streets, a dog not that much different than him, only this dog didn't last. The squeaks of Scamp's chew toy punctuates the story, until he yawns and takes a nap. “Son?”

He noses the pup, Scamp's paws move away from the toy as he rolls over and his chest rises and falls.

“Son?”

Scamp snores.

“Guess I'll finish it later.”

Tramp takes care to pick each toy up and pile them neatly back in place. Once they're in a heap, he picks Scamp up by the scruff. “Getting heavy, champ.” He won't be able to do this much more, if at all. His son's not that much bigger, but he can tell time's passing.

Tramp's fearing the next week. _If not next week, the week after, or that week..._

He seeks Lady out, and when she asks what's on his mind, he doesn't tell her the truth. Not a lie either. Instead, Tramp tells her _some_ of what's on his mind. The hunger he's been feeling. A feeling of routine burning into her. But he dodges anything too close to the truth. 

He's a Tramp, he's never lived this life, he's happier now.

“But I don't know how long I can keep doing this, Pidge.”

“I know it's hard.” She says, and his hackles tense.

“No, you don't. It's like... how you felt before you found me out there.” Like she didn't belong there. Lost. Awkward. A mess of a dog in a mess of a place. She'd been a fish out of water floundering before he'd given her the ability to find her paws again. He looked to her, hoping to see the realization of what he meant.

It's there. She flinches, looks down. “It wasn't always that bad, though, right?”

“No. Not always.” Not before Angel, he wants to say.

“Maybe you should get more fresh air. That's your world out there, not mine.”

He nods, embracing her with his paws and neck, breathing in her scent. Ignoring the looming problems that dance in the future. “I've been doing my best, Pidge.”

“I know.”


	8. Chapter 8

It's not this week, Tramp tells himself, breathing out a sigh as he walks to the food dish and begins to eat. The toys have been scattered, still seven(Angel has not returned the three). He finds his meal tastes bitter, coarse. Internally he goes through names he's talked about. 

When Scamp brought up Ruby, Tramp had taken a moment, stared at his son, then processed there was once a Ruby fitting that description. He'd been with many dogs named Ruby, many. It was up there with other names. Sasha, Star, Princess, he's heard them all, or thinks he has. Humans name everything. They call the table a table, dishes have fancy names, even the silverware has names. There's a lot of things they name. 

Then there's dogs he's known named Dog. Or weird words, hard to say. They speak in thick accents, or click with their tongues and that has a meaning only the dog knows, not him. Guide dogs he's had flings with speak of 'humans talking-in-paws' which is motions with their hands, and those mean stuff as well. 

Even the bags of dog food have weird names. Canine Crunchies. Crunch-tastic. Kibble. Whole Kernal Kibble. Instant Gravy. The toys. Squeaky, Wood, Rope, Chew, Frisbee... Tramp takes a long drink. Lady's name is still on these dishes. So are they Lady's Dish or Water and Food Dish? He's overthinking this. 

Shaking himself before scratching an itch, ignoring the tinkling of his dog tags. Not this week, not today. Jim Dear calls his name gently, he scratches behind his ears. Darling's already got plates, and Lady is at their feet by the table as they sit down. 

Jim Jr keeps purposefully having accidents. He makes eye contact with Scamp before wiggling his hands. “Ooopsies.” Oatmeal and peas smack the floor, Scamp rising to clean it before either human can raise from their seats. The pup takes a snout-full of peas that cover his muzzle as Jim Jr laughs and flings another spoonful too quickly.

“Jim Jr, don't do that.”

“Ooopsies!”

“Now, now, Junior.”

Their child ignores them, like a disobedient pup. He turns his drink over next and it spills across the table and drips onto the floor. Lady runs to fetch a rag, almost pulling the stove door open as she takes one from its rung. 

“Thank you, girl.” Darling says as Jim Dear eats eggs and she strides over to wide the kid's face, then the table, then the floor.

He catches Angel from the corner of his eye, sniffing trash and then eyeing the dish. Pretending not to notice her, he moves to sit by Jim Dear's side, and is rewarded with half an egg yellow and the empty plate to lick clean. Darling finishes her meal slower. 

The tell tale crunch of kibble, or dog food, or whatever brand this is comes to the side, he ignores it. Pretending he doesn't see Angel gorging herself fat on dog food and overeating. 

“Time for a walk.” 

The door swings open, and reveals rain.

“Never mind, sorry guys.”

They don't mind. But they pretend they do.

Tramp stares into Angel's eyes as he swings his head around, the Pomeranian turns and pads her way out of the room, bowl empty and crumbs of dog food upon her jowls. 

Avoiding him still.

Scamp looks between him and his girl... his female friend. The young dog fidgets in place, then looks at his mom, his dad once more, and runs after her. “Angel, wait up!”

“She's been acting weird.” Lady remarks.

“Only just now noticed?”

“No. She acted weird when she got here. I thought less dogs in the house would be a good thing. Think she misses one of ours?” She tilted her head, ears flopping to the side. “Or someone in the … junkyard, as you called it?”

“Could be. Don't worry too much.”

“I won't. I think Scamp's good for her.”

His attempts seemed to not be winning him any brownie points lately, so Tramp couldn't quite agree. “Want to watch television with Jim Dear and Jim Jr?”

“I'd like to.” She batted her eyes. "With you."

He allowed her to move past him, smiling as 'Lady's first' came from his mouth. She laughed and took the right side, he took the left. Small hands reached down to playfully tug Tramp's ears and ruffle Lady's. Tramp inhaled, and tried to understand the point of watching other, smaller people, inside a box.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter, we get to where this story was going to originally start, before I took a step back and realized it deserved more.

It's been two days since he looked her in the face and told her: “I know.”

Angel's been missing for two days. He can smell her better than Scamp and Lady can, as both cannot find her. They'd not even be sniffing for her if not for Jim Dear and Darling. The humans are turning the place upside down.

What started out with a simple, “Jim Dear, have you seen Angel?” 

“I'm sure she'll show up later, see you after work, Darling.”

Has erupted into the place being turned double checked and a repetition of the Pomeranian's name. Lady's acting the part, as is Scamp. Tramp's playing clueless. In reality, he's letting them all exhaust everywhere she could be.   
A dog as small and round as Angel couldn't have gotten far, she's been eating too good here. Scamp whines, he's found the other three toys, but no Angel.

“Where could she have gone?” Lady asks him, voice low as Darling calls for Angel, a treat box hastily being opened for the first time. “You don't think she...”

“No.” He cuts the notion off swiftly. “I think she needed to get out for awhile, this house has been weighing on her a lot. All that stress eating.”

“Like Darling when the pups were given to homes.”

“Like Darling when Scamp ran away and Jim Jr screamed and screamed.”

“She'll be okay, right?” 

He honestly doesn't know if she will be, considering matters. He nods his head regardless. “She'll be fiiine, she was a junkyard dog.”

“Dad?”

“It's okay, Whirlwind, no need to worry, just humor the humans.”

“Scamp, boy, you know where she's at?” Darling asks.

Tramp and Lady wait until the humans give up. It takes a lot longer than either expect. Jim Dear's taken three walks, seen no sight of Angel, and Darling has begun to eye the fridge and chew upon her fingers more. _They care._ After three hours, they quit, just straight up quit. They seem to have been worked up by the dogs, in a way, as soon as Lady becomes impassive, they slackened their search, but once Scamp sat down, they barely cared.

“Well, she was a stray.” 

“Darling?”

“It's fine, I was more upset the dogs were upset.”

“I'm sorry. Think Jim Jr will notice?”

She reaches a hand down, Scamp presses his face into her palm. “No, not as long as Scamp's still here.”

Scamp looks shocked for all of a minute, then resigned. The bond between the mutt and the Pomeranian is shaky now, fragile, Angel gone means he'll be lonely. Lady is once more reassured by him that Angel's not gone, just out. 

After a rather composed evening snack, it's as if none of this ever happened. Jim Dear and Darling part, he goes before the television, and she draws water into the sink and washes dishes. “Come on.” Jim Dear calls, patting the sofa he's on, the sound of guns and weird human noises that sound like birds cawwing more than human beings comes from the thing's speakers. 

Scamp hops up, then Lady, both make room for him, he smiles. They rest their heads on his lap, ignoring Jim Jr's wails and dully tuning out Darling feeding the kid, burping him, then getting him dressed for kindergarten.

The humans speak a language to the normal talking ones, it reminds Tramp of those foreign dogs. Maybe these humans are foreign too. They make peace. They go different ways. Then other humans come and are bad. It makes no sense to Tramp. Humans come in too many types for him to see any sense in any of this at all.

Scamp yawns, legs stretching out beside them, pushing before becoming tucked back under himself. 

“Sleepy?” His mother asks with a lick to his forehead. She has the same voice she used to when telling bed time stories to the four of them. That feels long ago.

“Not a pup anymore, mom.”

“Shh.”

He laughs despite himself, as Lady becomes stern and pushy with their son, licking Scamp's ears and snout clean. She ignores his whining and protests, one paw batting him down. 

“I won't always get to do this, one day you'll be your father's size.”

“Aww, mom, no I won't.”

“Yes, you'll have long legs in no time, son. Already getting taller than I am.”

“No way, not that much taller!”

Mind occupied with that thought, Tramp envisions Collette and Annette with long legs like poodles, and Danielle with the legs of a sheep dog, chasing cattle and barking at squirrels, just barely safe in their trees. He imagines them rivaling show dogs, and the dogs who run alongside horses.

 

It's late at night when he wakes, his brown eyes adjusting to the darkness quite swiftly. The house life has not stripped him of his night vision, nor other skills. Stretching himself from the side of Lady, who has wrapped herself around Scamp tighter than snakes do mice, Tramp inhales through his nose.  
Angel's scent's not faint enough to cause trouble, he picks it up and follows. 

The door outside is easily opened, the yard is pretty bare, a mist across the sky and the scent of future rain. A few blankets are off somewhere. Scattered about the place.

He sniffs them, circles back. The house is large, a small dog could blend in easily. He touches fence posts and tests the loose ones, peeking out from them as he moves.

 _Dog house._ He thinks, and knows it's been checked. He smells blood, faint, and dirt. It's empty minus old blankets. The dreaded threat once used to corral Scamp is abandoned. A soft whine makes him step back. The building behind the dog house. 

He walks around the side of it, slowly, carefully. Her scent's everywhere, fresh as the air he's inhaling. He peers around, body taking more steps, grass folding under paws.

Black and tan fur, moving, pressed close to her side. Nuzzling against Angel as her tired eyes widen. Her head jerks upright, her mouth opens, her jaw trembles. She tries to become smaller than she is, to no avail.

Tramp sees red.


	10. Chapter 10

All of his suspicions had not prepared him for this, for the reality. A reality he had never thought upon when gazing upon the glutton eating Jim Dear and Darling's dog food supply. No, this was worse than anything he'd thought. A far worse sight to behold with his hateful enraged eyes. 

Fury. 

His vision was hazed as if he stared through colored windows. 

Hazed with blood and anger and a seething pain.

It was a boiling hot pain, like spilled water from the stove or baths ran too hot. It prickled and roiled beneath his fur, into his muscles, into his fangs!

Whatever gap was between them was closed, Tramp's jaws clacked shut inches from Angel's ear as the Pomeranian screamed and threw herself backwards. Exhaustion shook her frame as she fought to stumble onto all four feet and keep her distance from him. He could hear himself, snarling, snapping, jaws inches from her, so blind with fury that only the knowledge of what the other half of this mess was, kept him from dealing to her what he wanted to.

Her tiny paws kept moving away, back from him, she cried out again, he feared the humans waking, his mate and child coming upon this scene, and so he clamped his jaws around her muzzle and pushed her head into the grass until his own long legs could hold her writhing form down.

“How could you?!”

“Mph!!”

“With him!”

"Mph- mmmmph! NNNNPH!" Angel struggled her best, fighting with limited strength, she buckled and tried to roll. The female was small, crushed beneath paws larger than herself. She whimpered and thrashed, paws and body flailing against his greater mass as she tried to find the energy. Fresh blood, the soft whimpers, it poked through Tramp's cloud of rage, then ignited it anew. He snarled, growls rumbling in his chest like thunder, he bore his weight down as she slipped herself free, if only by just enough to part her muzzle anew.

“I don't want them!” 

It was not a loud scream, a dying howl, but instead a curse spat into his ears that had him pulling them back. How dare she say that. THEM! As if these were anything more than – than something precious, something to be protected. His claws raked her muzzle until finally, he pulled back. Insulted for a moment, before his teeth flashed along with gums. A threat and a hundred swears filtered into a single line.

“Good. You can't have them!”

Angel withered, cowering and smelling as if she might urinate upon the grass she barely touched with her paws, her ears were a mess, grass stains and scratches lined her face. She wasn't going to keep them. She was planning to let them die. To kill them!

“If you touch them –“ His teeth snapped where her paw had just been, as she moved towards the whimpering pile, as if instinct drove her to a demise. Tramp's jaws were tense. He called her more names, and snarled so loudly a neighbor's window lit up as Angel slammed backwards into the fence and shook, body rattling upon wood.

He was inside in an instant, searching, looking. There was nothing right, and then he saw it, beside where they'd all slept on the sofa, the empty toy basket. It was with a handle, wicker humans called it, woven wood but light. He grabbed it in his jaws and saw no one up, suspecting both had gone to bed with Jim Dear, Tramp bounded back.

Angel got no looks of pity from him. He counted them carefully. Around two months he'd known, like when Lady had been, but never known whose. Not his son's, he knew that much. Lady and Scamp had remained oblivious, as he'd watched as known. She whimpered as he nudged the two and found a third. They were all a blend, a mix of gray or black, with tan features to them. One sported those ears. Floppy, uneven. None had docked tails like their sire had had to suffer, instead little wiggly nubs that might grow and curl. Maybe bear more fur, some of her features might appear. He didn't care. They weren't hers anymore.

He was in awe. He knew should they open their eyes, they would likely be brown. He knew the eyes they'd have. He knew them as well as he knew their father. His pulse thrummed within him as he snarled at the slightest movement that was not them.

Each was lifted tenderly, each placed in the basket. A scrap of what she'd stolen was snatched at, nosed in over them. Patted down with tenderness.

“What are you do –“ She lapsed into silence at his snarl.

_“Maybe you should get more fresh air. That's your world out there, not mine.”_

Lady would understand. Even so, he stepped forward. “You're going back in there, and this is what you're going to tell them.” Angel cowered, as Tramp began to talk about how things were going to be, what she'd say.

Finished, he took the basket in his mouth, after sniffing and licking each puppy, and made his way through two loose fence posts. They clacked and swiveled, then settled into place. He didn't look back, feet moving fast in haste. Leaving Angel, sniffling and whimpering. He could only focus on the soft sounds within the basket, soothing the cloud of red he'd only felt on occasion in the past while fighting for his life.

“It'll be okay, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pomeranians come in black and tan among other colors. Not the point.  
> They have litters of 1-5 puppies.  
> They take around the same length of time to birth puppies as a cocker spaniel, aka Lady's breed, around roughly, two months time or slightly over.


	11. Chapter 11

Tramps paws smacked the ground as he moved. The rain had stirred up mud in the streets, he was treading grass, which squished beneath his paw pads. The soft whining came to his ears as he turned, nose working, trying to tell wet and soggy things from scents. Things were damp, not washed away fully. The sky was a dark mess, likely going to break away into day within hours.

He opted not to risk it, and tore along the walkways humans used, straying from the streets were a car could hit him, as one had once hurt Trusty. Not everyone had their lights on, and worse, the dogcatchers had not forgotten him, re-homed or not.

They wouldn't bother him as long as the collar stayed on.

He loomed across yards, sniffing for other dogs, ones he knew. Not everyone had found a home, this place had more dogs than people. _Three puppies._ He'd not even memorized their scents or identified them yet, and he dared not pull the clothe away and do so now. Their wiggling pink noses were peeked out, mouths taking air in and out. _Sleeping._ Good. They could sleep. He spun around on his heels, looking for prints, tracks, anything. Why had he spent almost a year in that place and become so off his game? He'd had more skill when Scamp was off with Buster. But that too had somewhat dulled. He vowed to resharpen himself. Humans did that with knives and such, he would as well.

A few barks picked up within houses, one ear lifted up, listening. Determining he didn't know the bark's owners, he continued on.

He came upon alleys and streets, with the stink of urine and markers. The rain had not washed away the garbage and it was a long corner that looped around a few buildings many people lived in.

“Well, well, if it ain't youse.” A voice said, and he gripped the basket, snarl on the edge of his tongue as he turned, eyes upon a dog he vaguely remembered. Female, smaller than him. A lisp from a missing tooth. “The Tramp, out in the streets.”

He froze, eyebrows raising.

“No worries, you want the place, I'll scram.”

Setting the basket beneath him, he shook his head. “My reputation lingers, good.”

“Can't kill a dog's name when even the dogcatchers can't kill him. You're immortalized.” The ratty terrier reminded him of Peg, but Peg was likely holed up somewhere better than near the sewer drains. “What's that?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Is there a place, where...” He raised his head, squared his shoulders. “Where can I find all my old pals and hang out like old times?”

The dog eyes him, a cat peers from a crate and tips its head, he's not above asking the feline next. He doesn't like cats, but everyone on the streets tends to get together and make peace in one life or the other. “Well....”

Tramp sighs.

“Youse sees, a lot of them don't hang around here, never did. But there's a place not far from here where a bunch went.”

Good. He doesn't have to hike it all the way off to the zoo or beyond to reconnect with some of them. “What of Buster?” His posture was straight, stiff, that of a dog who would bite if needled even a little.

“Same as always, guards a small territory, but alone now. He drives off any future company. Sends them packing, tails tucked because he's mad and doesn't trust tail-kissing.”

 _He barely ever did._ Tramp pushed for the place. It was an old abandoned lot, marked for demolition, but the humans had been more focused elsewhere, something about the place and neighborhood scared them off. Tramp knew just enough to assume this was money-based, not fear-based. There were places that had more money and got built faster. Then there were things like Jim Dear's projects which took longer, because no one got paid, people worked on it when they could.

“Thank you.”

“Anything for The Tramp.”

He said no more, rolled his shoulders, lifted the basket of still-sleeping puppies, and turned for the place. It was beyond anywhere that he'd been on walks, this could take awhile. The sun would be up. _Then I had better be far out of sight from people who recognize me._ They'd assume him on an errand, but his humans didn't need to be rung up at breakfast.

Or out looking for him.

He wouldn't be going home, not for a long while. Not until the feelings quelled and settled down, until his guts stopped feeling heavy and the routines stopped eating at his patience. He'd been so hostile towards his own son as a puppy, back before he'd ran off, but Scamp had been in the right, a big house and toys should have meant they could make messes. Could pee and run wherever they wanted to.

Instead mud always meant a bath, not always a warm one, wet fur meant a rough drying, it all had rules. There was no rain that did good enough, no mistakes pardoned unless the humans were happy. The rules of pack were strict, but they were not a noose. They were a battle, strength, wits, anything goes as long as what they needed could be gotten.

He stopped before the building, having passed it twice and looped back, It smelled of dogs, a blended scent of their markers and their shed fur clinging to carpet tossed into a pile beside rotting wood and rusting appliances. A fence with loose chain link upturned beside rickety fencing was all that stood between him and them, and he pawed the rotting boards until they gave him entrance, basket unscathed. 

He expected rabid barking, the sounds to draw forth anger and bile, but none came, paws moved, eyes peered out. If he was recognized, he couldn't tell. But not a single hackle rose at his presence.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a risk, Tramp knew. A dozen dogs could flay him alive. The scents were breeds he knew, and others he didn't. Chihuahua, bulldog, a few sight hounds of breeds he never remembered. Even Lady's breed was among here. Mutts like him. He crossed the yard, repressing his hackles as eyes and noses rose around corners, dogs laid in silence, looking at him, trying to suss his intentions out.

Peg's scent was faded, she'd been around, but had likely come and gone, maybe they had get togethers. There were males, females, more females than males he could smell, implied they might be running things. He'd been burned plenty of times. Peg was a master yarn-weaver of all his wrongs when she was a dog who could catch distemper and no one would notice a change.

“Wait a minute.”

“–Is that–”

“Whoa.”

“I've seen him before!”

“I've dated him before!”

“I'd never forget that face!”

“What's he doing out here?”

“You know him?”

“Everyone knows him, sweetie, he's –“

“The Tramp!”

Gasps, wagged tails. Bones were dropped onto hardwood floors, whines and whimpers. He stepped to what was a door less building, the rusted hinges grasping onto rotted wood where a frame without a door swayed. He stepped over it. It was in the dim lighting, that his eyes made out the shape of half the dogs he'd seen in pounds and another half he'd seen on streets long ago. A few of Buster's own were there, he'd suspected they had never found their homes, but were too prideful to go back to the mix and say such.

Positive was not the full term he'd used, for some females licked upon a male's paws and face and strode out, likely bitter he'd once taken Lady and stayed for so long. He'd always had a preference for long-furred dogs, and many of those who looked jaded were short-furred. Some resembled Angel in ways he didn't like, but the female spoke not of litter mates. She likely had as much knowledge of her parents and siblings as Lady herself did.

“Done being a pet.” He said, tone sharp. “But I'm not here to lead you, I'm here hoping for a favor.” He bit his tongue as he tried to word it right. “I'm thinking about living wild again, but ...” The basket was nudged. “Their mother doesn't want to nurse them.” He picked the grayest one among them, a soft off not-yellow melded into gray and black. Holding it up as if to show them what the child was. Then returning it to the basket.

They looked among themselves, then began to talk. A female slid along his peripheral. They respected him for the most part, he'd saved many of their lives. She drew closer and he could see she was some mix of collie. The white and brown fur and tired eyes. The kind of dog that was on the farms. He thought of his daughter, shook his head as she moved closer.

“Lost my pups recently.”

He gave a respectful nod, ignoring the hush, the chummy smiles. He could smell it on her now, as she laid down. She was heavy with milk, likely in pain. He'd come here for this. She seemed vaguely familiar to him. A house pet he'd been with once. They weren't his pups she'd lost, someone else's even so. He took each puppy and sat them before her. They fussed and latched awkwardly, whimpers fading as he turned to talk to others.

He heard whispers. The type that meant his pups would be protected. 

“How much has changed?”

“A lot for dogs, a little for humans.” A bulldog said as a long-nosed dog scratched an itch beside him.

“The humans aren't as interested in catching us as long as we stay away from people who call them, and stay clean. Rabies gets them called up real fast, but you know us, once a dog gets rabies, we bail.”

“Or the shaking sickness.”

“Or the bad cough,” a Chihuahua said. 

Tramp knew of such, rats and such carried germs, and an early lesson he'd told Scamp before he'd left was to not let them bite him during kills. Aim for the neck, shake, do not get bit. Same things he'd told Lady before they'd come. _”If ever a rat comes into this house again, this is what you do if I'm not here.”_ He'd prepared them. The best he'd been able to.

“What do you have to eat around here?” He smiled, a charming smile despite his gaze darting to the puppies. They were round with milk and sleeping. “Does she have a name?” His voice lowered.

“Missy.”

“One person around here calls her Socks because of her leg with the brown patch, we think.”

“Too active.”

“Too energetic.”

“Too big.”

'Missy's head was turned to look at them, as if their words meant nothing to her. She opened her mouth to pipe up. “Too old. Humans want puppies, not grown dogs.”

The awkward silence didn't get past him, he suspected that the humans had taken her pups, but it bothered him. What would Jim Dear and Darling even do if Angel refused to nurse three pups? They'd have seven dogs and a new thing to spend money on, of course. He wondered how much getting dog milk cost. Did they even have that? Maybe they'd hand them off and he'd watch, watch as they were surrendered to strangers. Three dogs would be okay. Lady, Scamp, Angel, they'd have less worries now.

The biggest dog in the house was gone.

He'd solved all their worries.

“Missy, are you going to be staying here?”

“Oh, there he goes, being The Tramp!”

He silenced them with a glare. “I have someplace to go, and I trust you, but I need to bring the pups with me.” 

“Then I'll come along.” She said, eyes not leaving the mutts curled to her side. “This place is one of many.”

_Spoken like a real street dog._


	13. Chapter 13

Missy was silent companionship, nothing like the ones he'd known before. As Tramp walked, pups carried along in the basket, she kept pace behind him, eyes to the ground. The collie mix's eyes were not strayed from the basket so much as guarding his flank. She was respectfully silent, even when his jaw ached and he offered the basket, keeping shoulder-to-shoulder so he could watch her. Trust was a feeble thing and if she ran, he knew he could find her, but could he catch her? Regardless, he made his way back some, tracing his own steps.

There was nothing more on his mind besides foolish ideas. His worries became small pinpricks to the big picture. Would Buster like these pups? How long would they take to wean? Would Missy stay or go once they were weaned? Would the _pups_ even stay? What would they name the pups? Their names were Buster and Tramp, both things humans threw around along with “Hey!” and “You there!”. Their options for names were narrow, given they'd never even named themselves. His stride was broken only for bathroom breaks and to smell the area for who'd been there. No one new had passed since he'd come along the path, but they strayed from his steps soon.

And instead towards the junkyard. A mess of filth and animal smells, he caught Missy sniffing alongside him. She was smelling the same things he did. Blood, mice, weird mice(possums), raccoons, cats. The blood was likely cats catching mice or raccoons catching cats – he'd seen it before, it was amazing. Raccoons so big they could have kidnapped Lady and eaten her. The horrible thought would have made him laugh once, but no more. He had pups smaller than Lady in tow. If raccoons dared to even touch – _Stop thinking about it._

He took a step around pipes and fence, nose working double time. Humans were faded, a lost smell. The construction in this area seemed to have utterly stopped. Maybe they'd moved onto another digging area. Humans were fickle like that.

“They're gone.” The mutt echoed, her voice muffled by the basket handle.

“Humans.” 

“Weird beings. They want things, then they don't.”

“Yep,” He made his way around the place, circling the fence's perimeter. Ignoring open areas and broken pieces. He'd check those later. “They scream for food, then throw it when you bring it.”

Missy let out a laugh. “They want you to get stuff, then throw it, and give you food when you bring it back.” A steady woof. “Then they throw it again.”

The entrance was the same. He motioned for her to stay back, one leg pushing her a fair distance behind him before crawling through. The smell of dog and human ended here, just to be reborn with another smell. Buster's smell.

Her hackles raised and the basket handle crinkled between her teeth before he made another motion. Causing her to give him a look, between one of someone cornered and tricked. 

“Those are his.” He whispered, head ducking. Her eyes lit up in surprise, going down, below her range of view, then up to make the confusion and question obvious. “Look like mine, I know.” _Floppy ears, black and tan and grey fur, one might think..._

Now was no time to think on it. The blonde could point elsewhere, but it didn't matter. Tramp's focus was elsewhere. The place reeked of Buster, a strong pungent dog smell. Like after the disagreement, he'd circled the area each day and marked it. Over and over, until only himself could be smelled.

Internally Tramp knew this was not a good sign. 

Quite the opposite.

He moved carefully. Then nudged Missy backwards to lay on her stomach in the exit. Buster was here, and likely would take any exit but this one if he decided to storm off. “Stay.” His tone went firm.

She looked at him, almost amused. “I know stay.” 

“Good.” 

He left her behind him as he moved forward, body poised to jump at the slightest noise. Buster's presence was strong in smell, but he'd yet to lay eyes upon the male. Where was the doberman/rottweiler at? _With this much garbage?_ He could be passing fifty rats and he'd not know. There was a charm to it, one he'd enjoyed once upon a time. His body missed this, the smells, the place. He was easing back into it. He took great inhales. 

One thing had changed for sure, he knew the name for almost all of what he was smelling. Varnish, mold, polish, cedar, cherry, termites. Lving with Jim Dear and Darling had endeared him to Lady even more, with her quirk for pointing out how different wood smelled and how it smelled with something called varnish. _It's the small things._ Silly small useless things his pups had thought was cool. Like knowing steak from deli meat. Food was food. _These ones won't need to know those things._ They'd likely never get to see the inside of a big, fancy house that was expensive, or even, to know what 'expenses' meant.

Having passed three mounds and not seen Buster, Tramp scoured the area with a tense stare. He was here, but where among the trash was he? He'd not looked at this place much when his son had been here. Maybe he was lost. What parted this varnish smell from the one to his left? 

There was no clear trail, he moved faster, looking for bedding and blankets. A pile of them was off to the side, and it was there, with his paws scrabbling as he moved to climb a mound and look down, he saw Buster. 

His heart thudded in his chest wildly. Those brown eyes were not on him at first, but as a few electronics fell, cords pulling other objects, the bigger male's head whipped around, and they locked upon Tramp. The joy swelling in his heart at seeing his best friend one-on-one for a change crashed downward as Buster's body tensed and his lip curled back. Expecting anger, Tramp's smiling face became terse. Reality was not his own feelings reflected. Buster had time and pain now spacing them farther apart. 

His look was that of a dog challenged. Tramp realized then his folly, standing up higher than the other dog, he looked like he was making a challenge. Alone here, he was staking a claim and Buster was posturing to strike him down as his claws raked the dirt beneath them.

Taking a deep breath, Tramp prepared himself for whatever would come. He'd not come here to run. But fighting wasn't looking like a good option either.

**Author's Note:**

> This can technically be read as taking place after https://archiveofourown.org/works/17678342, or can stand on it's own. 
> 
> This is multi-chapter, not all chapters will be terribly long, but it is one of the stories I've had planned that will be done as I have the time to.


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